Expect The Unexpected
by rayychel infinity
Summary: Big Brother AU—Kurt and Blaine are contestants on the show ready to win half a million dollars. expect the unexpected is the show's motto, but what they don't expect, however, is a mutual attraction turned into a semi-reluctant showmance that blossoms into something a lot more…real.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. And I also don't own _Big Brother_; that honor goes to CBS.

If you haven't seen Big Brother, you'll probably be okay. I've glossed over most of the gameplay, so if you are a fan of the show you can easily fill in the gaps yourself.

Tumblr is here (endofadream)

* * *

Kurt isn't lying when he says that he's surprised he made it onto Big Brother—it's been a dream of his for years now, ever since he and his father had sat down every summer while he was in high school to watch it, and his dreams coming true just isn't something that Kurt's used to.

At just barely twenty-one, Kurt's the youngest in the house. It terrifies him but it also gives him what he thinks is an advantage: the younger ones always get seen as less of a threat, and Kurt hides his strengths from the moment that the game begins. His plan is to befriend who he needs to but watch out mainly for himself. He'll win the competitions when necessary and won't stir up any controversy. He's here for himself, here to win, and no one else will get in his way.

And then he meets Blaine Anderson.

* * *

"Hey, everyone," the guy on the couch across from Kurt says as he stands up. He's short, Kurt notices as he sips his wine, and his fashion sense is grandpa-atrocious, but that still doesn't stop his traitorous mind from supplying Kurt with the obvious: _he's really, really hot_. "I'm Blaine Anderson. I'm twenty-two, and I'm a grad student at NYU."

The room is a chorus of greetings as everyone says hello, and Kurt catches at least three of the girls (the one on Blaine's right, introduced rather strongly as Santana Lopez, and two others, a petite brunette and a blonde, at the other end of the couch who haven't introduced themselves yet) openly leering at him. Kurt rolls his eyes and re-crosses his legs.

When it gets to his turn, he stands up, smiles politely. The weight of every eye in the room on him is familiar, almost comforting. Kurt basks in undivided attention like this. He swills around the dregs of his wine in the glass, looks from person to person to show that he isn't afraid of any of them. When he gets to Blaine he looks away quicker than any of the others; he can't help but notice that, even though he looks away, Blaine's eyes are still on him. "Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel. I'm twenty-one, and I'm a student at NYADA." He carefully leaves out the part about his internship at .

He sits back down and glances over to see that Blaine is still staring at him, his brows slightly knitted and his head cocked. Kurt flushes and looks away, jiggling his leg a little as the guy next to him introduces himself as Puck and refuses to tell the rest of the room his real name.

Blaine is dangerous, Kurt's decided. It's too risky to get involved with him. He seems too open, too engaging. He probably couldn't keep a secret to himself for more than an hour. Befriending Blaine will just screw up everything that Kurt has had planned, and jeopardizing his future as a contestant just isn't worth it for the measly summer-long friendship of another person.

Still…Kurt keeps catching Blaine's eyes every so often as they sit in the living room waiting for Julie to come on the TV and welcome them as houseguests. And every time, Kurt feels his heart speed up, feels is cheeks burn with a hot flush. He looks away, embarrassed, and down the last of his wine as he silently chides himself for being such a _teenager_.

Blaine's too short, anyway, and has too much gel in his hair. They negate out his extremely kissable lips and large, expressive eyes.

* * *

"You can't just go this entire summer without making any friends."

Kurt looks up from his bowl of cereal, his eyes still slitted and tired from the early morning. Blaine sits down at the island next to him, a mug in his hand. Kurt watches the gray vapor coils that float up and twist away, takes in Blaine's matching silk pajama set. He'd rather throw the next HOH competition than admit that Blaine looks absolutely adorable in it.

He doesn't say anything at first, just takes another bite and shrugs noncommittally even though the question makes him tense up. "Who says I can't?"

Blaine chuckles, gently nudges Kurt's arm and takes a sip from his mug. The bitter taste of coffee floats over to Kurt, and immediately his mouth waters. "Me." Blaine lowers his voice, looking around for anyone and adjusting his mic where it's clipped to the sapphire blue of his pajama pants. "Also, it makes you look suspicious. No one's going to take you to the end with them if you don't at least try and act friendly."

Kurt bristles at this, setting his jaw and pushing his stool back. Who does Blaine think he is? He takes his bowl to the sink, rinses it out and doesn't say a word. He can see in the mirror in front of him that Blaine is still there, staring at Kurt's back. There's a look creasing his forehead that's suspiciously similar to hurt.

A little niggle of guilt worms its way into Kurt's gut: for the past week Blaine's been nothing but nice to him and he can't even bring himself to return the sentiment. He's just so used to people telling him what he can and cannot do, of people telling him how to feel, that he's on edge more often than not. Throw in the burgeoning attraction he's feeling towards Blaine and he becomes completely hostile. Falling for someone is an unnecessary risk, especially when it's not a planned showmance. And Kurt did _not_ come here for that.

"Kurt?" Blaine steps forward now, his lips pulled tightly down in a frown. His hair is still ungelled and sleep-rumpled, and Kurt has to bite his lip and look down to avoid staring too much. He reaches out like he wants to touch Kurt's shoulder reassuringly and immediately drops his hand as he looks into the mirror. "What's wrong? Did I say something?"

Kurt sets his bowl down, shakes his head and turns around. He glares at Blaine and is pleased to see that Blaine takes a step back, hands raised and eyes wide. The little black bud of his mic is clipped haphazardly to the collar of his shirt, and the cord swings freely down to where it curves and trails back up to the pack attached to Blaine's pants. "I can make it to the end on my own, thanks," Kurt says in a harsh whisper. "I don't need your _pity_."

He stalks off towards the bathrooms, not noticing the longing look that Blaine sends after him.

* * *

The Big Brother house is a lot more boring than the show has ever painted it: when they're not competing or fighting they're just…existing. Most of the girls tan or swim all day, and most of the guys work out or play pool or swim. They'll all party and get drunk sometimes at night, and Kurt recalls a few tipsy singing sessions with the girls once he'd found out that they'd been in show choir in high school, too. He's taught Puck how to properly cook, and he's given manicures to Mercedes Jones, who is, Kurt thinks, one of his truest allies in this house, and Brittany Pierce. He's talked dance and cars with Mike Chang and alternative fashion choices with Tina Cohen-Chang. He hasn't slept excessively, but nearly every time Kurt walks into the guys' room (or the living room, or to the couch outside) Blaine is half under the covers, snoring.

He's surprised that it _is_ easy to make friends and that finding an alliance, or at least just a few people to center yourself around, is a lot more crucial than he'd thought it would be. He's actually having fun when he isn't worried about going up on the block or who's going to win what competition to change the flow of things in the house.

"Blaine's got the big eyes for you," Santana drawls one morning a few weeks in while she and Rachel are sunning themselves by the pool. Brittany is lying on the couch with Sam Evans and is swapping sunglasses with him, and Kurt can't help but notice the glares Santana keeps sending their way every few minutes.

He pauses in his daily yoga routine to raise an eyebrow. He stretches his leg up, grabbing onto the tight gray of his yoga pants, and asks, a little strained, "_What_?"

"Bowtie McGay," Santana clarifies, peering over the rims of her overlarge sunglasses. She adjusts her bikini top, pushes her cleavage up and sneaks another peek at Brittany. Kurt rolls his eyes. "I've seen him fantasizing about you when you aren't looking. I think he wants the D."

Kurt flushes, bending into the forward fold. He hugs his arms tight to his calves, breathes through the stretch and burn. The door to the house opens and Blaine steps out in nothing but swim trunks. Kurt pretends like he isn't looking as he stares at Blaine's chest, at the subtle definition of his muscles and the light smattering of hair. He gulps when he sees the deep cut of the V of Blaine's hips and immediately drops into downward dog to hide his expression.

He peeks back after shifting comfortably into position and has to stifle his laughter when he sees Blaine, eyes comically wide and mouth dropped, staring at his ass. His cheeks are slowly flushing pink, and it's a few seconds before he stammers out something resembling a sentence and disappears quickly into the house, the towel in his hand spilling out unfolded over the front of his shorts.

"Yeah," Santana says, biting back her smile while Rachel laughs next to her, "I'd say he wants it pretty badly."

* * *

Kurt settles onto the couch in the diary room, looking uncomfortably into the unfriendly round black lens of the camera. He hates the one-on-one interviews—he's terrified that the editors are going to misconstrue what he says when they air the episodes. He'd definitely said some less-than-nice things about Jesse St. James before he'd gone home. But that's the whole point, he supposes. Everyone trash talks everyone.

(He doesn't dwell on how when he thinks about Blaine trash-talking him he gets a sour, uncomfortable lump in his throat.)

He swallows, wets his lips and sighs, running a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety. He could talk about the competition, the fervent whispers he's heard from the pantry and in other rooms as he walks by, but he knows he's not a target yet—for right now his plan is to just float along and not stir the waters too much.

"I don't know what to think about Blaine," he confesses, looking at the ceiling. It's a fairly safe topic to settle on, and he needs to get it off his chest anyway, America be damned. They can think what they want. "He's really nice but god…he has the worst fashion sense. And I mean the _worst_." He chuckles, looking down. "I was an ass to him before, and I kind of regret it now. I think we could be friends."

* * *

Almost everyone is inside the house when Kurt walks out into the backyard with two plates of food. Santana had won Head of Household this week and had immediately put up Blaine and Sam—rumors have been flying and accusations have been thrown with both of them in the middle of it and everyone, including Kurt, is finally feeling the true stress of the game.

Blaine's on the couch, legs crossed. He's staring at the ground looking lost, and Kurt's heart twinges in sympathy. So far he still hasn't tried to make any sort of alliance or friendship with Blaine, but now, with him on the block and his time in the house threatened, Kurt knows that he's going to regret it if he never at least tries.

"Hey," Kurt says softly as he approaches. Blaine looks up, surprised, before he gives Kurt a look of purest happiness. He smiles, says his hello, and eyes the plates curiously. Kurt matches his smile, holds one up for emphasis before handing it to Blaine. Cooking is one of Kurt's favorite ways to pass the time, though he's careful to not to use too much of the food—he remembers past seasons where arguments erupted because of that very reason. "Chicken and rice. It's your favorite, right?"

Blaine blinks in grateful surprise as he takes the plate and the fork that Kurt hands him before settling down next to him on the couch. "Um, yeah. It is. How did you know?"

Kurt shrugs, going for nonchalant, but his heart is pounding in his chest and his hand trembles when he takes a forkful of his own chicken and rice. "You hear things," he teases, looking up at Blaine and smiling. The floodlights above the house make his honey-colored eyes sparkle a bit more brightly.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. Kurt adjusts his mic clip on the collar of his shirt and looks up suspiciously when the door to the house opens. It's Mike, and he looks between the two of them before giving a wave and heading over to the pool table. Sam comes out a moment later, waves, and does the same. Kurt breathes a sigh of relief: he doesn't have to worry as much with Sam and Mike as he would if it had been Santana and Kitty Wilde that had walked out.

Kurt looks around for a moment before scooting closer to Blaine on the couch. The soft cushions easily give under his weight. "I'm really sorry that you're on the block," he whispers.

Blaine shrugs, takes a bite and absently swirls his fork around on his plate. He gives Kurt a small smile as he says, "It's all part of the game, right? You just have to take it in stride. And there's still the POV contest. I could get lucky." He laughs, then eyes up Kurt and raises his brows. "Besides, what happened to Mr. I'm-Never-Going-To-Make-Friends?"

Kurt flushes, smiles and looks down at his plate, pushing the last bites of rice into a neat little pile. "It got kind of lonely," he admits. _And I think I really, actually like you._

Blaine _hmm_s, finishes off his plate and sets it on the table. He straightens back up, scoots in closer to Kurt. The backyard is silent except for the sounds of Mike and Sam's pool game. Kurt is heavily aware of the weight of his microphone and of the cameras set around the yard.

Blaine leans closer still until their knees are touching, until Kurt can pick out the faint freckles scattering Blaine's cheekbones and the lopsided line of his (still adorable) nose. He stares at Blaine's thick lashes, at the too-good-to-be-natural pink of his lips. He feels a magnetic pull, a yearning, all of those feelings that he's been fighting off since the first day pushing their way to the surface.

Still closer Blaine leans, and just when Kurt has to physically bite back his whimper Blaine whispers, "I'm glad it did," and gets up, taking his plate into the house and closing the door behind him.

Kurt sits on the couch for a few moments, blinking stupidly. He really hopes that this doesn't make it onto the show—he can only imagine what his dad would think.

* * *

Kurt is chosen to participate in and wins the Power of Veto competition; to almost no one's surprise except Blaine's he uses it to get Blaine off the block. Kitty goes up in his place and even Sam looks relieved: Kitty's been a target from day one because she's as fierce as she is bitchy, and most of the fights that break out in the house stem from her comments or backstabbing.

Blaine pulls Kurt aside when everyone is filing out after the ceremony and takes him into the vacant pantry, looking around before shutting the door and stepping close so that their whispers won't carry far. His eyes are wide, brimming with genuine emotion and the faint glimmer of tears. Kurt gets the insane urge to kiss Blaine until he stops seeing that look in his eyes, and for the first time he doesn't try to push it into the very dark corners of his mind.

"Why?" Blaine asks, his voice trembling. He fusses with his bowtie, tugs at the hem of his polo. He looks so confused, so unsure, and it's an interesting chink in the calm, composed manner that Kurt's seen so far. "You didn't…I—keeping me in the game has no reward for you."

Kurt just smiles, fixes Blaine's slightly-crooked bowtie, and replies, "_Au contraire, _my dear Blaine. I can't let you go before I truly get to know you, can I?"

* * *

Kitty goes home that week, and Kurt suddenly finds himself in an alliance with Blaine, Sam, Mike, Ryder Lynn, and Mercedes. He feels bad leaving Rachel behind but he knows that, though she's a sweet girl with her heart in the right place, she'll never help Kurt get into the final four.

* * *

"Okay, childhood pets," Kurt says.

He and Blaine are in the hammock trading childhood stories to pass the time on a particularly slow and boring day where the time seems to move like molasses instead of sand. Kurt's leg is thrown over Blaine's, and they're close, so close, that Kurt catches, occasionally, the curious stares of the other houseguests. Let them look, he thinks as he rubs his leg over Blaine's, shivers at the feel of Blaine's rough leg hair against his own.

"A dog," Blaine replies, grinning broadly at Kurt. His cheeks scrunch up under the lenses of his glasses and a loose curl of hair falls over his forehead. "Named Roxie."

"Oh, very nice." Kurt takes Blaine's hand and tangles their fingers together. The hammock sways gently when either of them moves. "You had good tastes at a young age, I see."

Blaine plays with Kurt's fingers, propping himself up on his elbow. Kurt squints against the sunlight, smiles when Blaine leans down to give him a soft, showmance-appropriate kiss. "I was very cute at a young age, too," Blaine responds, nuzzling his nose to Kurt's. Kurt just barely resists the urge to coo.

"Hmm, probably not as cute as you are now."

"Where was this charming, flattering Kurt Hummel at the beginning? He would have made my first few weeks a lot better."

Kurt giggles, slapping Blaine's bare arm before leaning up for another kiss. "Shut up. I just had to make sure that you were the real deal. I don't schmooze with just _any_ guy on camera, you know, even just for a measly little showmance."

"Well aren't I just the lucky guy," Blaine teases, running his hand over Kurt's chest through his tank top. Kurt laughs again, feels his heart swell, and smiles fondly, genuinely, at Blaine. Though this may still be new, and Kurt is still having a little bit of trouble actually letting his guard down and just _going_ with it, he can see something so true, so pure, about Blaine and the way he looks at Kurt.

_I am_, he thinks, kissing Blaine again. Just because he can.

* * *

"I really think I like him," Kurt tells the camera in the diary room. He's still flushed and bubbly from his and Blaine's makeout session a few minutes ago, and right now nothing, not even the game, matters more than seeing Blaine again. "Blaine's a strong player and a great guy. I can definitely see myself in the final five with him. And I know it's just a stupid showmance, but who knows." He bites his lip, gives the camera, and America, a wide, happy grin. "This could be the real thing."

* * *

"Kurt is so amazing," Blaine excitedly tells the camera. He can barely sit still, and the neckline of his tank top is askew. "I was hoping from the beginning to get into an alliance with him, but I never imagined _this_. I came here to win half a million dollars, maybe have a great, life-changing experience as well, but this is more than I ever could have _dreamed_. It's been a rough couple of weeks with alliances shifting and breaking, but I'm here to fight for my place in the game, and I won't give up, not as long as Kurt is here with me. I just hope he feels the same."

* * *

"How tacky would it be to have sex here?" Kurt whispers one evening between kisses down Blaine's neck. Blaine is under him, hands clutched tight to Kurt's shirt, and his moan cuts off halfway as Kurt licks up his neck, sucks just under the curve of his jaw.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," he pants, staring up at Kurt wide-eyed. "What?"

Kurt sits down on Blaine's lap, smirks at the hardness he feels below his ass. No one's in the bedroom, but Kurt knows that they don't have a lot of time—or privacy—to even attempt that. They could highjack Rachel's HOH room, but Kurt isn't that tacky.

"You heard me," Kurt whispers silkily. He runs his hands over Blaine's firm chest, thumbs over the pebbled buds of his nipples until Blaine's arching up, head tossed back with a muffled, strained cry. "I want to fuck you."

"_Fuck_," Blaine whimpers, biting his lip. The tendons in his neck stand out as he bares his throat again, and Kurt can't resist bending and licking a wet, sloppy line straight up it. Blaine's cock twitches against his ass and Kurt wriggles down against it, grinding hard onto Blaine's lap. "Kurt, you can't just—" He cuts off with a gasp as Kurt slides down his body, pulling his basketball shorts and underwear down just enough to free his cock. Kurt sinks down over him immediately, moaning when Blaine's hand tangles in his hair and tugs. His breath hitches, body straining and back arching and he pants, "God, okay, yeah, _that_. You can do that."

Kurt smiles and closes his eyes, wrapping a hand around the base of Blaine's cock as he sucks.

"Wanky," Santana says when Kurt passes her in the halfway fifteen minutes later. She's wrapped in a fluffy white towel and her hair is wet and dripping onto her shoulder blades. She places a sage hand on Kurt's shoulder and smirks. "It's always the cute, innocent ones that are kinky. I sure hope the live feed enjoyed your roll in the borrowed-sheets hay."

She turns and walks away before Kurt can bring up that he's _pretty sure_ he heard he and Brittany having sex before, calling over her shoulder just as Blaine emerges from the bedroom pulling a shirt on over his head, "Oh, and just for the record, Hummel, I think you have a _fantastic_ mouth, too."

Less than ten minutes later everyone in the house knows about it.

Kurt hopes that Santana becomes a Have-Not for the week.

* * *

It's Kurt, instead, who becomes a Have-Not when he and his team lose the Have/Have-Not competition. He sulks, but only briefly: there are more important things this week, like making sure that Tina, who's HOH, knows that he and Blaine are on her side.

Blaine's rubbing Kurt's back and consoling him when Santana turns around and calls across the yard, "And by the way, I didn't see your boyfriend's sperm on the list of Have-Not choices for this week!"

"Fuck you!" Kurt yells back, flushing as anger battles with humiliation inside him. He feels tears prick his eyes and turns into Blaine's embrace when he begins to cry.

"Hey, shh, I've got you," Blaine whispers, squeezing Kurt's arms as he rubs them. He presses a kiss to the side of Kurt's head. "Santana's just a bitch, Kurt, she does it to everybody. You won't be the last one."

Kurt sniffs, tugging Blaine closer. He feels safe here like this, and neither of them notices or acknowledges that Kurt didn't correct Santana when she called Blaine his boyfriend.

* * *

Tina invites Kurt up to her room that evening. Kurt changes into comfy sweats and a sweater to ward off the ever-present chill in the house. He knocks three times and turns the handle when Tina's muffled voice calls a greeting.

She's in the HOH robe digging around in a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Kurt eyes it enviously, thinking of the turnips, refried beans, and slop that await him, Sam, and Marley Rose downstairs.

"So what'd you need?" Kurt asks casually as he sits in the chair facing the bed. "Blaine and I have already told you that we're backing you a hundred percent. Santana's our target this week, and after her comment today I'm feeling particularly enthusiastic about getting her out of this house." He narrows his eyes and thins his lips.

Tina nods, chews and then says, "That's actually why I called you up here alone." She raises her brows and gesticulates wildly. "What's going on with you and Blaine? Is it just a showmance?"

"I—," Kurt begins, and then stops. It _had_ begun as a showmance, a way to keep them both safe at least for a little while, but somehow in the past few weeks it's become…not. He isn't using Blaine as a shield, or a pawn, or anything to help extend his stay in the house. He's with Blaine because he actually _likes_ Blaine. He hadn't come here looking for romance but it had somehow found him anyway. "I think it's a little more than a showmance," he finally admits, toying with the sleeve of his sweater. It feels weird to admit it—it feels _wrong_ and completely unsafe, but Kurt also thinks that it may just be the house making him paranoid.

Tina squeals, bouncing up and down. "I knew it!" she gushes. "Oh my god, you two make the _cutest_ couple, Kurt. Like, a billion times cuter than Brendan and Rachel. I'm serious."

Kurt laughs. "Thanks."

Tina nods empathetically, and when Joe Hart knocks and comes in they carefully switch subjects.

* * *

When Joe and Mike and Ryder get evicted, Kurt and Blaine begin to have more and more time to themselves in the boys' bedroom. It's where they find themselves one night, curled close on top of the covers as they stare at the ceiling.

"If you could take me out on a date," Kurt says after a few minutes' silence, "any date, first or second or thirtieth, where would you take me?"

"Hmm." Blaine rubs his foot up Kurt's calf, wraps his arm a little tighter around Kurt's torso. His warm breath tickles the nape of Kurt's neck and Kurt giggles, squirms slightly and makes Blaine laugh. "I think I'm going to go with the safe bet: a coffee date."

Kurt hums his approval, nodding and twisting in Blaine's embrace so that they're face-to-face. He twists his feet in the sheets, cups Blaine's jaw. "And what would you buy me?"

Blaine's nose scrunches as he thinks. He leans forward, presses his lips firmly to Kurt's, and pulls back almost immediately. There's a little teasing grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Something sweet," he murmurs, "because you always taste so sweet. White chocolate mocha?"

"Close," Kurt replies, running his hand through Blaine's hair as he smiles. "Grande nonfat mocha. And I bet you're one of those disgusting drip coffee guys. Your mugs always smell so strong in the mornings."

Blaine taps Kurt's nose, laughs softly when Kurt scrunches it and shakes his head. "Medium drip and biscotti no matter where I go. Though I do sometimes shake it up and get a small."

Their conversation tapers off again, but the silence is comfortable. No one comes in to interrupt and there are no ongoing fights or confrontations from anyone else to worry about at the moment. Kurt lazily drags his fingers up and down Blaine's bicep, feels the rise of prickly gooseflesh as he lightly skims before pressing in harder to feel the firm reminder of strong muscle.

"Would you?" he whispers, regaining Blaine's attention. Blaine looks at him curiously, lips damp from his tongue. Kurt bites his own, feels suddenly shy. There's a difference between being in a house with someone with no choice but to see them everyday: _would_ Blaine even want to see Kurt once the game is over? Kurt knows that what he's feeling is genuine, but Blaine has mentioned before that he used to act: he could be playing Kurt for the fool just to take advantage of him and backdoor him down the line. "Take me on a date, I mean."

Blaine doesn't hesitate. He leans forward, kisses Kurt slow and soft and so passionate that h feels his toes curl in his socks. His heart picks up frantically and his body floods with pleasant warmth as he kisses back, loses himself in the familiar feel and slide of their lips together, their hungry inhales and wet smacks as they part, both breathing a little heavier than before.

"Yes," Blaine whispers, his voice cracking slightly at the end. He takes Kurt's hand, squeezes it, and kisses him again. "Yes."

* * *

Kurt's the one to win Head of Household the week after he's put up on the block for the third time. It's a much-needed win, and already he feels lighter, _happier_. He's never felt this before, this knowledge that he _is_ safe no matter what, that _Blaine_ is going to be safe for at least one more week.

He'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he thinks he may be in love with Blaine. It's sudden and strong, like a hurricane, and oftentimes that's what Kurt feels like he's stuck in while in this house. But this time it's a good feeling, something he's needed for a long time.

There are only a handful of them left at this point, and it terrifies Kurt every day that Blaine could be the one to go next. He's still focused on his game, still knows what he needs to do to win, but now Blaine's in the picture, in every scenario, ad for the first time in the game Kurt is torn. One—or both of them—is going to have to go home eventually.

Their alliance had disintegrated once Mike had been evicted and the secret had been exposed, and as far as Kurt knows everyone is on their own. But that's just the thing—he doesn't know. What he thinks he knows could very well be a lie.

Blaine stays once everyone leaves the HOH room after the customary viewing. Mercedes shuts the door behind him and Blaine's immediately walking forward. He grabs Kurt's waist and backs him towards the bed, crawling easily on top of him once they both fall.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispers, kissing Kurt hard and dirty. Kurt does his best to keep up, his hands roaming the strong planes of Blaine's back as he does his best to quiet his moans. "God, Kurt, seriously. I—" Blaine stops, pulls back slightly.

Kurt sits up, his brow knitted, and reaches out for Blaine. "What is it?"

Blaine worries his lower lip, looks up unsurely, and Kurt suddenly sees the scared, insecure Blaine who'd been on the block at the beginning. Kurt moves in to kiss him again, desperate to get the mood back, and groans when Blaine shifts further away.

"Blaine, seriously," he whispers. "You're scaring me. What's wrong? Did you hear something from someone? Because I swear to god if Sam and Mercedes are in an alliance…"

"I think I'm falling in love with you." Blaine's voice catches, edges higher. His eyes go wide and he places a hand over his mouth.

Kurt's dumbstruck for a moment as he tries to process what he's heard. Blaine thinks he might be in love with him? There's no way. This has to all be for show, there's no way that his perfect showmance is actually a reality. Kurt Hummel does _not_ get this lucky.

"Oh," he squeaks, then mentally stuffs his foot in his mouth when he sees Blaine's face crumple, his shoulders sagging as he hangs his head, turns red and mutters incoherent excuses and apologies and half-assed, half-formed reasons.

Kurt grabs Blaine's arm when he goes to move. "IthinkIloveyoutoo," he says in a jumbled rush in one panicky breath. He doesn't blink, just holds Blaine's gaze steadily despite the terror he's feeling inside. "But please tell me this isn't because I'm HOH, or a ploy, or some way to screw me over in the end."

"It's not." Blaine fervently shakes his head. He laughs shakily, runs a hand through his hair and looks at the ceiling. "Though I'm sure that it's making for some pretty awesome TV right now."

Kurt laughs, too, stares up at Blaine like he's the best thing he's ever seen, like he can't believe his luck.

"I'm being serious," Blaine continues. He straddles Kurt's lap again, takes both of his hands and twines their fingers together. "I've never felt this way about someone before. You're just so…magical. You're gorgeous, and smart, and funny, and you make me smile when no one else can. You _get_ me, Kurt. You…you _move me_. And when I see my life outside of this house…" He shakes his head, looks away and bites his lip. There's a slight furrow between his brows, a diamond glint of tears in his eyes. When he looks back down his face is so open, so _raw_ and emotive, that Kurt sucks in a breath at the sheer beauty of it. "I see you," Blaine whispers. A tear slides down his cheek. "I can't see my life without you, Kurt. I don't know _how_ I had a life without you in the first place."

Kurt lets out a choked laugh-sob and untangles their hands, reaching up and pulling Blaine down for a deep, passionate kiss. He flips their positions, presses Blaine into the thick duvet, and brushes his fingers tenderly down Blaine's cheek, wiping away the wetness from his tears.

"Thousands of people are reaching for their tissues right now," Kurt whispers. Blaine lets out a squeaky, emotional laugh, his eyes crinkling up as his face splits into a wide grin. "You turned my life on its head in the best way possible, Blaine. I know I was difficult in the beginning, but…_god_, I love you. I love you so much. I don't ever want to see another day without you." He dips his head to press their lips together.

"You know," Blaine whispers when they part. His lips are sinfully red, and Kurt watches distractedly as he licks them. "We have the room to ourselves now, and people won't come in without knocking…" He slides a hand between them, cups Kurt in his jeans.

Kurt gasps, eyes sliding shut, and Blaine laughs as Kurt nods, says, "Yeah, yeah, I—_fuck_, Blaine _yes_. Just…make sure we remember to pull the covers up before we do anything."

Blaine smirks, tugs Kurt's shirt off, then his own, and wriggles under the covers, crooking his finger at Kurt to do the same. "Aye, aye, captain."


	2. Chapter 2

So because everyone wanted it, I delivered *u*

Tumblr is here (endofadream)

* * *

Blaine exits the door to the house with a heavy heart, a tight chest, and tear-pricked eyes; but he still holds his head high, smiles and waves and blinks in surprise at the tumultuous cheers that erupt from the people in the crowd.

He shakes Julie's hand before he sits down but after he sets his black travel bag on the floor next to the stool. When he settles into place he looks out at everyone again and smiles. He still feels warm from Kurt's tight goodbye hug, can still see his own tears reflected there when Kurt had pulled away and whispered, "I'm gonna win this thing for you, baby, I promise."

"So, Blaine," Julie says, snapping Blaine back to the present and the hot lights on his face. "I think I can truthfully say that it's a shame to see you out here tonight."

Blaine laughs, smiles and shrugs. "I can't lie: I have to agree with you on that one."

"How did it feel to walk out that door knowing that you were leaving your chance at half a million dollars behind?"

Blaine swallows hard, thinks back to the bittersweet goodbyes and the few less-than-sincere hugs he'd received as he'd grabbed his duffel bag. It had sucked, he wants to say. It _sucks_ knowing that he's gone and Kurt _isn't_ and that he's back out in the real world now, where there are no walls and no cameras and there's the awful added possibility that things could change, could go wrong.

"It's just part of the game," is what he says with a shrug and a smile that's as sincere as he can possibly make it. "You go in there knowing you're either gonna win or lose and there's nothing you can do about it."

He's sure he'd gone home this week purely for the reason to break him and Kurt up and shift the momentum and power of the house. It hurts to think about, but Blaine can't stay mad at anyone left: despite their ups and down, their fights and tears, he holds all of them in a special place in his heart. How could he ever forget Sam trying to teach him pool, or watching Santana and Rachel attempt to try and keep up with Mike's expert dance moves? And Kurt—how could Blaine _ever_ forget him? Falling asleep in his arms, making love under the covers in the HOH room, the way Kurt always smiled that special smile for Blaine—Blaine knows, without a doubt, that he'll never forget any of this.

"…And speaking of part of the game," Julie says, smiling in a candid sort of way, "would you mind telling us about Kurt? Just how serious _was_ it?"

Blaine warms from the inside out, and it's not from the stage lights. The audience cheers and Blaine flushes, ducking his head and shaking it as he laughs, says, "I don't even know _where_ to begin with him, Julie. It was…yeah, I'd say that it was pretty serious." The piece of paper with Kurt's hastily-scrawled number sits heavy in his pocket and Blaine drags his hand over it absently as he delicately crosses his legs and tugs at his bowtie, hoping that it's still straight now that Kurt isn't here to keep it in check.

Blaine is, honestly, still trying to wrap his head around all of this. He's seen showmances from past seasons, has seen how they look on the show: realistic, completely believable, completely _adorable_, but how much of that is actually true? How many of those people are really together? There are exceptions, of course, but Blaine is still unsure, scared.

"Twitter has been abuzz over you two for weeks now," she continues. "Klaine is the steamier version Brenchel, they've been saying."

"Oh, god," Blaine groans playfully, pressing his palm to his face. He thinks back to all those times where he and Kurt had made out on top of the covers, rolling around and…_grinding_. They'd always gotten so caught up in the moment, in the feel of each other, that they'd forgotten all about the cameras until it was too late. "You forget that everyone can see you 24/7," he admits, biting his lip as the audience laughs loudly. He flushes hot as the memory of Kurt sucking him off for the first time resurfaces. "I'm sure America has seen _way_ too much of us."

"That's what our editors are paid for," Julie teases, and Blaine groans louder, hides his face completely in his hands. He's not usually like this: the Blaine before _Big Brother_ was calm, cool, composed and completely put together at all times. Private school and a strict upbringing had drilled that into his head from as early as he could remember, and even after graduating from high school, then college and heading off into his grad program he's still held onto that sense of collectedness. It's something he'd never been able to escape until he'd met Kurt.

Kurt had said that Blaine had turned his life completely on its head, but he has no idea how much he's changed Blaine's.

"I think we definitely made your editors earn their money," he says when he resurfaces. He knows that his face must be bright red—he can only _imagine_ what his family thinks.

"And what about you? Do you think the experience was worth it?"

"Oh, definitely." Blaine nods, adjusting his cuff. "I wanted to win, just like everyone else, but I also wanted the full _Big Brother_ experience. I've made some great friendships here that I hope will last once the game is over, but only time will tell. I played the best game that I could and gave it my all, and I have no regrets, Julie, I can honestly say that."

She smiles, nods, and places a quick hand on Blaine's shoulder. "In the event of your eviction tonight, the houseguests have taped some goodbye messages for you. Let's take a look."

Blaine follows Julie's gaze over to the corner of the studio where Mercedes's face pops up. He listens to each of their messages, nodding along and smiling when they say something good and frowning and rolling his eyes when they say something bad. It surprises him how _little_ of that there is; though the sting of eviction is still fresh and throbbing, Blaine can feel it slowly begin to recede as he smiles.

When Kurt's face pops up, Blaine's chest immediately tightens, and as much as he tries he can't stop his eyes from welling up with tears. He knows the cameras are on him, knows that there's no way to hide it, and with an inward sigh and an imperceptible shrug to himself he lets the tears build and blur his vision into wobbly, blurry shapes, lets one slide down his face as Kurt begins to speak.

"Blaine, sweetie, the last thing I wanted to see was you walking out that door. Everyone loved you, but it was a power move that I completely understand even though it sucks." His voice cracks a little. His eyes are red-rimmed, slightly swollen, and Blaine can't help but notice how much of the blue in Kurt's irises that it brings out. "I would have done the same thing if it had been for someone else. Though, if you ask me," he continues, one corner of his mouth uplifting into a smile as he looks around the diary room, "they were all just a little jealous."

The audience laughs and so does Blaine; he brings his hand up to his eye, wipes away the slick of tears, and itches to reach out, to touch Kurt and tell him _be strong, it's okay, I'm rooting for you_.

"And you know what?" Kurt adds, his voice determined. He sniffs, and the softly vulnerable look about his face sharpens, hardens, and he's all steely concentration and gritty determination again. "They can't touch us, or what we have. This stopped being just a showmance for me a long time ago, and I promise you, baby, that I'm gonna win this thing for us. I'll miss you."

The screen goes dark and Julie turns back to face Blaine. "Well," she says, pausing heavily for emphasis and anticipation, "that was certainly a powerful message."

Blaine sniffs, smiles, chuckles and says, "It really was. But that's how Kurt is. You think that he's not powerful, that he can't persuade the entire house in one night to change their votes, but he can."

"Do you think he'll win?"

Blaine looks out at the audience, at the cameras. He's still smiling, still full of hope. "Kurt is a strong player and a strong person." His smile grows a little more wistful. "That's why I fell in love with him in the first place."

There's a chorus of _aww_s that make Blaine smile embarrassedly and uncross and re-cross his legs. He's just being truthful, and maybe it's a bit too much, but Blaine doesn't care, can't even bring himself to, not when he feels like this. Even being sent home just shy of the final five can't put a damper on his mood.

They end the interview and Blaine stands up, picks up his bag. He waves to everybody again, hefts his bag over his shoulder, and begins the walk out.

Once he's off the stage and out of sight of the cameras Blaine pulls the little piece of paper from his pocket. He stares at it, takes in Kurt's tiny, neat writing, and smiles, rubbing his thumb over the indentations from the pen.

Just because one chapter ended doesn't mean that it's really over: the vote between the final two is in a couple of weeks, and if Kurt is or isn't part of it, it doesn't matter because he'll be there and so will Blaine. Whether it's hello, or a final adieu, they'll have this one last chance before their summer is over.

As Blaine is putting the paper back into his pocket his finger rubs over unfamiliar indentations that he didn't feel before. His brow furrowing, he curiously pulls it back out, unfolds it and flips it over. What's there on the back, in even tinier print so that Blaine has missed it up until now, are six little words. Six little words that make Blaine let out a quiet sob-chuckle, that make his heart beat faster, that make him realize how truly lucky he is and how this just might actually be the real deal, TV cameras or not.

_I'm never saying goodbye to you._


	3. Chapter 3

Set just before the last chapter. This is what happens when you decide to write drabbles instead of a linear story ugh.

Tumblr is here (endofadream)

* * *

"Blaine?" Kurt is cautious as he opens the door to the Have-Not room. The rest of the houseguests are slowly dispersing throughout the house after the Veto meeting. Mercedes says something in the kitchen that Kurt can't quite catch as the door shuts behind him. His thoughts are angry but all he feels is a numbing, penetrating sense of sadness that fills the very marrow of his bones with lead.

The room is empty though it is strewn with blankets: on the floor, over the uncomfortable airplane chairs that function as beds. Just the sight of them makes Kurt's back ache as he remembers his awful week as a Have-Not. Looking around, he spots Blaine huddled up in a row of those chairs, his knees drawn up and his forehead resting on them.

"Blaine?" Kurt asks, still cautious, as he steps over.

There's an unintelligible noise, and Kurt has to fight the impulse to smile. It would be completely inappropriate, especially at a time like this, but Blaine is so entrancingly adorable no matter what that it's difficult sometimes. He takes a seat next to Blaine, tipping his head back and staring up at the ceiling, at the ominous black camera in the corner. He wonders what America will think when they see this.

Blaine being put on the block had been bad enough, but when Kurt hadn't been picked for the Veto competition and Rachel had won but had kept the nominations the same—though he supposes that he deserves it for shifting from Rachel and then being exposed and powerless after his new alliance had dissolved—it feels a million times worse. Kurt feels absolutely defeated, run-down, helplessly at the mercy of the rest of the house—which is exactly what they want.

Breaking him and Blaine up is a power move. Kurt's not an idiot, he knows that they're the couple to beat and that everyone lately, it seems, has been avoiding him and Blaine more and more. Conversations stop when he walks into the room. Shifty glances are thrown outside during his yoga routines when they think Kurt isn't looking. But just the thought of Blaine leaving, of him being alone, it makes Kurt feel sick.

"Blaine, honey, just talk to me," Kurt tries, placing a hand on Blaine's knee. He studies the slump of Blaine's shoulders, the loose lock of his fingers over his shins. He still can't get the look in Blaine's eyes when Rachel had chosen not to use the Power of Veto on anyone out of his head.

The reply, when it comes long minutes later, is muffled. "I'm going home."

Kurt's heart clenches painfully. It feels like there's a knife in there, digging and twisting. "No you're not."

Finally Blaine lifts his head. His cheeks are wet, but they're not red, and his eyes are surprisingly bright. He looks focused, determined, but, somehow, there is also the dark shadow of defeat looming the crevasses of his face, like the shadow of a threatening storm cloud. "Come on, Kurt. You're not stupid." He smiles weakly, painfully, like there's a hook in the corner of his mouth and it's being tugged up against his will. It's a show smile, bright and fake for the audience—the viewers—like stage makeup. "We both know that Tina is just a pawn. The real objective is to completely blindside me and get me out of here."

Hearing it from Blaine's mouth, real words said so bitterly, so bluntly, makes all of the pent-up rage held in little bubbles just under Kurt's skim begin to burst, rising hotter and hotter like lava towards the surface as they fill him with a carbonated rage. He clenches his hands into fists, sets his jaw, and he doesn't realize that he hasn't said anything until Blaine unfolds himself, sits upright and takes Kurt's hands, making little soothing noises as he gently pries the fingers apart.

"It's not right," Kurt says, jerky through his anger.

"It's a game," Blaine says simply. He looks up, catches Kurt's disbelieving stare, and chuckles, dropping his gaze again. His fingers clench briefly around Kurt's before he drops their hands altogether. He goes for his mic pack, adjusts the long black cord and re-clips the mic to his collar. "I guess you just…have to take it in stride."

"I don't want you to go."

It's childish, and as soon as Kurt says it he realizes how petulant it sounds; he also realizes how true it is. There had been a time, maybe, when Kurt had been okay with the fact that one of them would go eventually. They would have seen each other in the end, whether one of them was up there or not, and later there would have been the jury house if both of them got evicted. But now, so far into the game, just the idea of not seeing Blaine every day, of not waking up to him and drinking coffee with him and competing for their lives in this house with him…it hurts more than Kurt's initial NYADA rejection had. And it also scares him. It could throw off his game. It could cost him the half-million fortune.

It could…it could mean that this goes so, so much deeper than just a summer fling.

Blaine looks like he's going to say something, but then he stops, his mouth half-open before he closes it. He turns his head towards the wall, then to the camera, then to the stacks of luggage against the wall. A corner of the blanket hangs off of the row of seats. Blaine didn't button the top button of his shirt. Kurt's own mic digs uncomfortably into his lower back. It seems like time has stopped.

"I don't want to go."

It's soft like the waves upon a distant shore. Blaine lowers his head, drags his nails along his pant leg. Kurt could almost pretend that he didn't hear it, but he knows that he did. He knows that there is something, magnetizing and sparking, between them. It isn't hard to miss the sudden sharp hitch in Blaine's breath, that tiny little hiccup indicative of a sudden onslaught of tears.

"I—" Blaine sucks in a deep breath. He draws his lips into his mouth, wets them. The light plays off of the shimmering mirage of tears in Blaine's eyes and they glitter like crystals. "I don't want to leave you, Kurt. I really don't. It hurts just to think about."

"Then don't go." Kurt's voice cracks. His own vision is submerged in shimmering murky shapes. "Don't leave me."

It slips out, but Kurt, surprisingly, finds himself not regretting it, despite how impossible the request is—they can't control their own fates in this house. Sooner or later if it's not this week one of them _will_ have to go.

Blaine begins to say something, a foreign crease dark between his thick brows, but then shakes his head. He takes Kurt's hands again, only this time he holds them, their fingers slotting together, Blaine's skim soft and warm against Kurt's. Blaine lifts his head up, meets Kurt's eyes and smiles broadly, genuinely, his cheeks stretching out and his eyes fanning little lines at the corner. He's so gorgeous, Kurt thinks in awe.

"Let's just make the most of what time we have, all right?"

Kurt scoots closer, the plastic seats unyielding against his thighs and knees as Blaine falls back, easy, looking up at Kurt like he's the most spectacular thing he's ever seen.

And Kurt kisses Blaine, desperate for just a little time, a small moment, where he can pretend that this isn't a house, that they aren't being filmed, that it's just them in Kurt's New York apartment, two new souls brought together, exploring places they've never visited.

Already, in the back of his mind, Kurt thinks, _this will never be goodbye_.

* * *

"Blaine, sweetie, the last thing I wanted to see was you walking out that door. Everyone loved you, but it was a power move that I completely understand even though it sucks. I would have done the same thing if it had been for someone else. Though, if you ask me, they were all just a little jealous."

Kurt stops, sucking in a breath. The diary room blurs around him, the dark shape of the camera fuzzing and distorting as he blinks away his tears, looks up and takes deep breaths to calm himself down. His heart is pounding, his hands are shaking. He doesn't want to be doing this, not for the second time—not for what might, and will be, the last time.

"I don't want you seeing this," he says, his voice rough like gritty rock salt. "I just—I hope to god you aren't seeing this, but I have a feeling that you are." He wipes his nose with the sleeve of his sweater in a manner very unlike him, manages another laugh and fruitless blank smile. "You're watching this right now and I'm stuck here with every single person who blindsided you just to break us up in the insane hopes that they'll shift the power in the house. Well, I have news for them: they just made one hell of an enemy in Kurt Hummel."

The smile he gives the camera this time is a little more real, more determined and steelier. They more than likely won't show any of this on the show, but Kurt takes comfort in knowing that it's still recorded, that it's still being seen by _someone_. He's ready to get blood on his hands, to make enemies and to show the house that, weeks of camaraderie or not, they're all in for a surprise after this eviction.

"And you know what? They can't touch us, or what we have. This stopped being just a showmance for me a long time ago, and I promise you, baby, that I'm gonna win this thing for us. I'll miss you."

* * *

For the first half of the day of the live vote, Kurt and Blaine don't get out of bed.

Most of the time is spent saying nothing. Under the covers their feet twine. They're naked, but Kurt doesn't care. He strokes his hand over Blaine's thick, soft hair, noses at the curve of Blaine's neck as his hand rubs over Blaine's chest, over warm skim and toned muscle.

His fingers trace patterns, words, _I don't want this to end_ and _please don't leave me now_. Blaine doesn't know what they are, and Kurt finds a sense of comfort in that. It's like it's his own secret, his own invisible ink.

When they kiss, it's passionate, world-ending, never-ending. They get worked up and pant into each other's mouths. They touch; bring themselves together only to unravel and immediately fall apart.

The nape of Kurt's neck is sweaty from exertion when Blaine places his hot palm there. The covers slip down to Kurt's shoulders. When Kurt looks down, Blaine's eyes are glittering amber ovals.

"Let's just pretend this day is never going to end," Blaine says.

Kurt agrees.

"All of the votes are in. By a vote of four to one…Blaine, you will be leaving the Big Brother house tonight."

Kurt's ears ring funnily, tinny, like he's on the receiving end of a bad connection. The hand of Blaine's that he's been holding during the voting suddenly feels very faint, not-there like if Kurt squeezes too tightly it will just disappear.

He had known that this would happen, but it still hadn't prepared him for how it would _feel_. To have this ripped out from under him. He looks over at Blaine, sees a perfect show face, lips thinned into grim determination. Blaine nods his head, manages a little affirmative smile as he looks up at Julie on the screen, and stands up. Kurt's hand falls from his, and there's a terrifying, disoriented moment where Kurt doesn't really know what to do without that tether.

Then he picks himself up, puts himself back in order, and as Blaine is hugging people and shaking hands and waving off the "it's nothing personal" comments, Kurt stands up.

Blaine's bag is already in his hand, and he's halfway to the door. Something irrational rears up inside Kurt, roars with an earsplitting din: past that door is a different world, a world where their lives _aren't_ run by cameras and producers and lies. It's a world outside of a singular house, where they're normal people free to live their lives however. Things are different. These people are different.

Kurt is one of the last people to hug Blaine, and he never wants to let go. He holds Blaine close, squeezes him tight. It hurts, letting him go, but he has to. Blaine's time in this house is over with, but Kurt's is still going strong, and he'd made a promise, both to himself and to Blaine.

A tear slides down Blaine's cheek as they part. Kurt feels the wetness of his own against his lashes, and he smiles, strokes a hand down Blaine's cheek before pulling him back in for another brief hug, his face pressed into the crook of Blaine's neck.

As he pulls away, he lets his lips brush over Blaine's ear, and he whispers, fierce and fiery, "I'm gonna win this thing for you, baby, I promise."

He slips Blaine a piece of paper, crumpled and folded small, and watches as Blaine slips it into his pocket without breaking eye contact.

Blaine nods, another tear glittering down his cheek, and he raises his chin, sniffs and laughs, watery, as he waves to everyone, says goodbye one last time. He opens the door, casts one last glance back at Kurt, and lets it fall closed.

The house falls silent in the way that it only does after an eviction. Everyone mourns—or doesn't mourn—the loss in their own way. Kurt thinks about crying tonight in his bed, thinks about planning new strategies. There are a myriad of possibilities, but they don't seem quite as desirable now that he'll be sleeping alone.

They all gather collectively at the display of pictures. The last place Kurt wants to be is here, but he knows that he has to. Tina stands next to him, along with Rachel, but Kurt doesn't speak to either of them. He's too afraid of what he might say if he does.

He has to be careful now that he's alone. He and Blaine are easily the biggest targets in the house, and with one down Kurt knows that the house won't stop until they've gotten rid of him, too.

He stares at Blaine's picture, at Blaine's easy, goofy smile, his too-gelled hair, his bright, crinkled whiskey eyes that gradually fade, fade, until the rest of his picture is bathed in black-and-white. Kurt's stomach twists, and a heavy ball settles in his throat. But he doesn't cry. He doesn't say a word.

He's the first to leave the display and no one says a word.


End file.
